


THE MARK OF ODIN

by MorphoFan



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bromance, Child Murder, Gen, Human Sacrifice, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-17 05:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20615567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorphoFan/pseuds/MorphoFan
Summary: A grisly discovery of mutilated bodies leads The Blue Morpho and Kano to a modern-day Odinist cult, but when they get too close, will Monarch become the next victim of the cult's gruesome sacrifice? Special thanks to Speccygeekgrrl for her editing, and Kr0nkinator for the artwork. Additional art by kurtssingh.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [speccygeekgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/gifts), [Kr0nkinator](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Kr0nkinator).

Chapter One

“SCREW YOU, BLUE MORPHO!"

Another bullet ricocheted off the edge of the dumpster, and the two men hiding behind it ducked. One was The Blue Morpho, vigilante and current bane of organized villainy in the Tri-State area. Beside him was his compact but powerful bodyguard and chauffeur, Kano.

In reality, The Blue Morpho and Kano were really The Mighty Monarch and his henchman, Twenty-One. By day, they themselves were super-villains, sworn to arch protagonist Dr. Rusty Venture. But due to some 'bureaucratic horseshit', as Monarch eloquently described it, they were currently grounded… until they could remove all the other super-villains ahead of them to arch Venture.

Which had led to their current position hiding behind a dumpster in a deserted warehouse while their adversary fired on them. They were in the process of trying to convince the Level Ten EMA sharp-shooter super-villain, Crosshair, to give up his arching rights, close up shop, and leave town.

"Dude!" Kano called, "We just want to talk to you!"

"YEAH, LIKE YOU TALKED TO MAESTROWAVE?" Another pair of bullets bounced off the heavy steel container with twin _*PINGS*!_ "TALK ME TO **_DEATH_**, MORE LIKE IT!"

Monarch looked pointedly over at his companion.

"Don't give me that look," Twenty-One hissed at his boss. "What happened with Maestrowave was NOT my fault."

"Whatever, GARY," the red-haired man replied. "So what are we supposed to do, here? Wait him out? Hope he runs out of ammo?"

"I don't know," Twenty-One muttered, "Maybe he'll calm down if we just leave him alone for a few minutes."

"Yeah, no, we're not doing that," Monarch said, drawing his dart gun. "I'll go right, you go left. On three, ready? One. Two."

"Oh man," the henchman shook his head, drawing his own gun and moving into position. "Are you sure this is a good—"

"THREE!"

"Shit," Gary muttered as he sprang around the side of the dumpster.

Crosshair was gone. Both men tentatively lowered their dart guns, glancing around for their opponent.

"Where'd he go?" Monarch whispered, peering around the dimly-lit warehouse.

Twenty-One saw movement above on the catwalk a fraction of a second too late.

The shot rang out, and Monarch grunted as blood sprayed from his chest. He started to crumple to the ground, but Gary grabbed him around the chest with one arm and held him up, taking aim at Crosshair with his other hand.

The Morpho dart crossed the space between them and struck the sniper in the neck, just as he was preparing to fire again. With a muffled yelp, he fell backwards over the catwalk railing and plummeted to his death on the concrete below.

"Shit… _shit… **SHIT…**_" Heart pounding with worry, Twenty-One scooped up Monarch and carried him over to a nearby work table, where he laid the vigilante out. His hands shook as he cradled the older man's face, leaning close to see if he was breathing. Next, he pulled open the bloodstained blue trench coat and suit jacket, trying to see how bad the wound was.

"Oof… what happened?" Monarch groaned, opening his eyes and looking up at his bodyguard in confusion, "Gaaawwwd, my chest KILLS!"

"You've been shot, boss," Gary said grimly, "Lie still, now…. I gotta stop the bleeding."

"Bleeding?" the older man muttered, trying to lift his head as his partner loosened his green necktie and fussed with his shirt buttons, "It feels like someone punched me, but—"

"The Kevlar failed," Gary said regretfully, "I knew I should've had Enzo reinforce it the last time he made repairs." He carefully peeled the shirt away from Monarch's left pectoral, and used the sleeve of his chauffeur jacket to wipe away the blood. Then he stopped, and just stared.

"What?" Monarch asked, anxiously, "Is it bad?"

"There's no wound!" the big man exclaimed. He looked closer at the blue shirt, "There's no HOLE…. What the hell… I SAW you get shot!"

Monarch pawed at his chest, wincing. "It hurts," he said, "But not THAT much."

"What's that smell?" Twenty-One suddenly said, sniffing. "Is that… is that cherry?" He leaned closer, sniffing at the stained shirt and jacket.

"Oh!" Monarch said, after a confused pause. He reached inside the breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small, squat, teardrop-shaped plastic bottle, now ruptured and dripping red fluid.

"What is that?" Gary demanded.

"It's my MiO," Monarch replied, grinning. "That dude shot me right in the MiO." He chuckled as he handed the ruined bottle to Twenty-One.

The Kevlar had stopped the bullet, after all, but the little bottle of beverage concentrate had exploded with the impact, spraying its dark red contents all over Monarch's suit.

"Jesus!" Gary said, holding a hand over his own heart, "I swear, I thought you were DONE this time."

"Sorry," the older man replied with a shrug, sitting up with his bodyguard's help. "Dr. Mrs. bought me a whole case of the stuff… said I need the vitamins… something about me being too pale."

"Holy Hell," Twenty-One muttered as he took Monarch's arm across his shoulders, supporting him as they headed for the exit, "Let's go home, dude. We need to get some ice on that; you're gonna bruise like crazy."

"Gotta stop at Enzo's on the way home and get my suit cleaned," Monarch replied.

"MiO… unbe-freaking-lievable… almost gave me a stroke…" Gary continued to grumble, but with a smile, now.

* * *


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

A few days later, Twenty-One was stripping the plastic garment bag off the newly-laundered Morpho Suit as his leader sat at the Crime Computer in his robe, watching the morning news. The lead story was a grisly one; the remains of two mutilated human bodies had been discovered beneath the Verrazano Narrows Bridge on the eastern side of Staten Island.

"Does this sound like the work of a Guild Villain to you?" Monarch called, gesturing at the screen.

"I dunno, it seems a little excessive," Gary replied, closing up the costume pod and coming to stand beside his boss, "It doesn't match the style of anyone we know, and nothing came up on the Guild website about it."

"Probably a rogue, then."

The camera panned across the area where the bodies had been found, and then zoomed in on some graffiti painted on the base of one of the bridge's supports.

_"The remains have not yet been positively identified. In fact, the only clue detectives have is this freshly-painted symbol,"_ the reporter droned on. _"Gang activity has not been ruled out."_

"Gang activity," Monarch snorted. "Mainstream reporters are ADORABLE."

"Clueless," Gary agreed. He indicated the painted markings as the camera finished its wobbly pan. "What do you suppose that symbol means?" It was three interlinked triangles.

"I was hoping YOU could tell ME," the older man said, rubbing his crazy-long eyebrows.

"Mm, nope," Gary said, shaking his head. "Nothing I've seen before. Looks almost Celtic."

"SELL-tic," Monarch corrected, "Soft 'C'."

"Uhh, NO," the henchman replied, "Unless you're talking about the NBA team, it's KELL-tic, with a hard 'C'. It's named for the Celts, a group of tribal societies in the Iron Age of Medieval Europe who spoke it."

"…GEEK!"

Now the reporter was speaking with a police detective. Detective Marcus Phillips, according to the name banner beneath his image. Monarch turned up the volume.

_"We've had rumors of a modern-day Odinist cult infiltrating the area,"_ the detective said, scoffing, _"But, I mean, we're obviously not taking them seriously. _

"Stranger things have happened, my dude," Gary muttered, and Monarch nodded in agreement.

_"Thank you, Detective,"_ the reporter said, before turning back to the camera, _"In other news, Professor Eric Fritjof, the new Headmaster at the Tottenville Home for Orphans—"_

"Just a second," Twenty-One said suddenly, closing the news window, "I HAVE seen that symbol…."

"What are you doing?" Monarch asked, scooting the chair back a few inches to give his burly friend more space to work.

"Logging onto Fiendbook," replied the younger man, "I wanna check something out."

"FIENDbook?" Monarch cackled, "What, is that like Facebook for villains, or something?"

"Yeah," Gary replied as the home page loaded, "That's exactly what it is."

Monarch rolled his eyes, but watched in patient silence as his partner scrolled through the pages of images.

"Here," the big man said, pointing at a new member's avatar; a simple black on white drawing of three interlocked triangles. "That's the same symbol as in the graffiti, isn't it?"

"Sure looks like it to me," Monarch conceded, leaning closer and nodding, "Is there any more info about that account?"

"Not much," the henchman responded, clicking through the few photos the unknown villain had posted, "Fake name, I'm sure…. But look, here…."

He pointed to one of the photos, of an ancient-looking stone archway at the edge of a grassy courtyard.

"England!" Monarch guessed, pointing knowingly at Twenty-One.

"Not according to the location pin," Gary said, pointing at the small map next to the photo. "According to the GPS data, this photo was taken at Fort Wadsworth, on Staten Island… less than a mile from where those bodies were found."

Monarch clicked off the screen and sat back, putting his feet up on the desk. He was quiet for an uncharacteristically long time.

"What's on your mind, boss?" Gary asked, after a few minutes.

"Just thinking," Monarch muttered, "I mean, you said nothing has come through about this on the Guild site? And clearly it wasn't 'gang activity,' which means, more likely, it's a villain acting outside of Guild Authority… right?"

"I guess," Twenty-One shrugged, "So what? If they aren't Guild, then they aren't between us and Venture."

"Yeahhhh," Monarch conceded with a whine, "But, if they're not IN the Guild, then they'll be a thorn in the Council's side, right? If The Blue Morpho and Kano could nip these schmucks in the butt—"

"Bud," corrected Gary with a snicker.

"--It might earn us some slack," Monarch continued, glaring at his henchman, "You know… get The Council to ease up on us a little?"

"Ehhh," the younger man hemmed, "I dunno, dude. Won't there be cops all over the place?"

"Meh, we can avoid them," Monarch said with a dismissive wave, getting to his feet and moving to the costume pod, taking off his bathrobe, "They're busy looking for gang activity, remember?"

"You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?"

"Do I ever?" the red-haired man said with a wink as he donned his blue fedora.

* * * * *

A short time later, Kano landed the Morphomobile in a small thicket of bushes just outside the bunker. The GPS on his phone had allowed them to pinpoint the location of the stone archway, and the two men in blue now made their way stealthily through the deserted fortress.

"What are we looking for, anyway?" Gary whispered.

"I dunno," Monarch replied, "But I'll know it when I see—" He stopped short, and his bodyguard bumped into him.

"What's wrong?" the big man asked.

"Shh, listen," Monarch said suddenly, holding up a hand and cocking his head.

They were both silent for a minute, and then Twenty-One heard it as well: a child crying.

"This way," the henchman said, jogging in the direction of the plaintive wails.

They followed the sounds through the maze and catacombs of the bunker, until they came out in a small courtyard. In the center was what looked like a large, old stone well, about twelve feet across.

"Oh man," Gary said, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Ohhhh man… that looks like the well in Ringu."

"Why would they put a creepy-ass thing like THAT in Ringu?" Monarch queried, gesturing at the well and looking at his friend in confusion. "Ringu is for little kids."

Gary stopped short and stared at the older man. "Little kids? RINGU? Are you kidding?"

"That… clay-mation penguin?" Monarch said, gesturing with his fingers, looking at his partner as if he were a moron. "You know, NOOT NOOT… he's all over The Youtube."

Twenty-One doubled over laughing. When he finally was able to catch his breath, he straightened and patted his bewildered leader on the arm.

"That's PINGU," he gasped. "RINGU is the horror movie we watched about the killer videotape, remember? Your wife made me unplug the TV before we went to bed every night for, like a MONTH."

"Oh, right," Monarch said, with a nod, "The one with the dead girl climbing out of the well—Ahhhhkay, now I get it."

"Yeah, I'm staying here, dude," Gary said, wiping tears of laughter from beneath his mask.

"C'mon, you CHILD," the red-haired man ordered, grabbing his henchman's sleeve and pulling him toward the well, "I promise I'll protect you from the creepy, wet Asian kids…."

They both leaned over to look into the well, and were greeted by twin piercing screams of terror. "EEEEK!"

"GAAHHH!" Monarch and Gary echoed, both leaping back in surprise. After a sheepish glance at one another, they returned to the edge of the well.

Two red-headed children, a boy and a girl, about six years old, peered up at them from the dry bottom of the well, shivering and huddling together in fear. They were barefoot and wearing nothing but lightweight pajamas. The little boy's had Batman on them, the little girl's were My Little Pony.

"Hi… uhh…. Sorry about that," Gary called down, smiling and waving, "Don't be scared, we're the Good Guys."

"Good Guys," Monarch muttered disdainfully under his breath, rolling his eyes.

"Could you NOT…?" Twenty-One chastised out of the corner of his mouth, still smiling at the kids.

"If you're Good Guys, why are you wearing masks?" the little boy demanded, folding his skinny arms.

"Hey now, Batman wears a mask!" Gary pointed at the youngster's PJs, "Right?"

The child glanced down at his jammies. "Batman's not a Good Guy, he's an Anti-hero," he said matter-of-factly, still looking suspiciously up at the two men.

"Oh my God, I LOVE this kid," Twenty-One whispered to his snickering partner.

"How about Spiderman, then?" Monarch called down, composing himself. "Spiderman's a Good Guy, right?"

"Mm… okay," the boy relented, narrowing his eyes. "But I'm watching you!"

"Shut UP, Toby!" the girl said sharply, before turning her attention back to Gary. "Thor put us in here," she said, sniffling, "and we can't get out!"

"Did you say Thor?" Monarch asked, glancing at his partner.

She nodded. "He wasn't a nice Thor, he was mean. Can you help us, please?"

"Sure, honey, just hang tight for a second," Twenty-One said, looking around. "We need a piece of rope or a branch or something…."

"The grappling gun's in the trunk of the car," Monarch said, gesturing with his thumb.

"I don't want to take the time to go back for it," Gary said. "They're cold, and this 'Thor' could be back any second."

"What about my trench coat?" Monarch said, stripping the garment off and shaking it out. "Should be strong enough to hold us, especially with the Kevlar."

"Good idea," Gary said, twisting the coat into a rope and wrapping one end around his fist. "In you go."

"Whoa, why me?" Monarch said, putting his hands on his hips. "Why not you? You're better with kids."

"So, YOU'RE gonna pull MY fat ass out of there?" Gary said with a smirk.

"Good point," the older man grumbled, taking hold of the other end of the makeshift rope. "Don't drop me, Fatty."

"Don't tempt me."

Monarch carefully lowered himself into the well, dropping the last few feet when he ran out of coat. He landed, and brushed himself off.

"Hello there, uh… little… citizens," he said awkwardly, shaking hands with each of the youngsters as he looked around.

"Hi," said the girl, smiling shyly at him.

"Hey, there's a door down here!" Monarch called up to his partner. He jiggled the rusted old handle on the door set into the stone wall, but it didn't budge.

"It's locked," Toby said, "We tried it."

"Never heard of a well with a door," Gary called down. "Must be a storage silo, or something."

"OK, now," the slim vigilante said, addressing the children, "Think you'll be strong enough to hold on, so my big friend up there can pull you out?"

"Yes sir," they replied in unison.

"What's your name?" the tall man asked conversationally as he escorted the little girl over to the wall.

"Megan," she replied. "Me and Toby live at Tottenville Home For Orphans 'cuz our mom didn't want us."

"…Ah." Monarch didn't really know what to say to that. He picked the little girl up by the waist, and held her up until she could grab the dangling coat.

"Ready?" Twenty-One asked. "Hold on tight, now!"

He pulled up the coat hand-over-hand, and soon the girl was scrambling over the edge into his big arms. Monarch stayed in position below, ready to catch her if she lost her grip.

"I gotcha, sweetie," Gary said as he pulled her to safety, chuckling as she hugged his neck and kissed his stubbled cheek. "Aww, thank you!"

She pulled back from him and rubbed a dirty hand over her eyes, wiping away tears.

"OK," Twenty-One said gently to her. "When I pull your brother up, I want you guys to go through that archway over there," he pointed, "and then follow the gravel path, and find a policeman or a park ranger. There should be a bunch of them just outside the bunker, got it?"

"Uh-huh," she said, nodding. "Follow the path, find a policeman."

"Good girl! But listen," he added conspiratorially, "You need to keep me and my friend a secret, OK? Don't tell anyone about us." He smiled and tousled her hair. "Otherwise the, uh… bad guys… might come after us." It wasn't really a lie, when he thought about it.

"Okay!"

"Hellooo?" Monarch called impatiently from below. "What's going on up there?"

Twenty-One leaned over the edge of the pit and lowered the coat again as Monarch guided the boy over to the wall. He lifted him up and held him until the child got a good grip on the coat, and then watched as Gary pulled him up.

Suddenly, the rusted old door behind him opened with a screech, and Monarch turned. "Holy shit, it IS Thor…."

"Watch out!" Twenty-One shouted from above as he lifted the boy out.

A crazed-looking blonde behemoth of a man stood there, dressed in fur and metal, holding what looked like a branding iron.

"Run, kids!" the henchman ordered, sending them on their way. "Go, go, go!"

"UNBELIEVERS!" the stranger roared, "How DARE you lay hands upon the Sacrificial Ones! They are for ODIN!"

"C'MON!" Gary shouted from above, whipping the end of the coat down to Monarch. The older man reached up, but the wild-eyed lunatic pinned him to the wall and pressed the red-hot branding iron to the exposed skin between Monarch's glove and sleeve.

"YEEEAAAUUUUGHH!" the vigilante bellowed in agony.

"Boss!" Twenty-One drew his dart gun and darted the attacker, and the stranger collapsed into a limp pile.

Monarch whimpered, slumped against the wall and clutching his wrist to his chest.

"Dude!" the henchman called, frantically, smacking the wall of the silo, "Grab the coat! C'mon!"

The red-haired man seemed dazed from the pain, but he finally reached up with his undamaged hand, took hold of the coat, and his bodyguard hauled him out. Gary briefly checked over the burn on his wrist before wrapping an arm around his waist and guiding him in the direction of the Morphomobile.

* * *


	3. Chapter Three

"Ow."

"Sorry… hold still."

"…OWWW!"

"Sorry," Twenty-One sighed again, and tried to be gentler as he dabbed antibiotic ointment over the brand on Monarch's pale, bony wrist.

They'd taken to carrying bottled water and a First Aid Kit in the trunk of the Morphomobile, and now the bodyguard was grateful for it. As soon as they'd reached the hidden car, he'd poured a full bottle of cool water over the burn. Now Monarch sat sideways on the hood, legs dangling off the passenger side, sleeve rolled up as his henchman tended to him.

"Does that feel any better?" Twenty-One asked, as he carefully bandaged his partner's wrist. Monarch grunted in a sulky, non-committal way, and the younger man fought down a grin. For all he'd been through, his boss could still be a big baby when it came to pain.

"It's not as bad as I thought it would be," Gary said optimistically, as he packed up the kit and returned it to the trunk. "No blistering or anything… just a red mark… should be healed in a couple of weeks."

Monarch hopped off the hood, opened the gull wing door, and slid into the passenger seat, idly picking at the tape holding the gauze in place. He looked over as Twenty-One took his place behind the wheel, and gave the younger man a nod and small smile.

"Thanks, dude," he murmured. "It does feel better."

The big man smiled and handed him a fresh bottle of water, and then dropped a couple of ibuprofen tablets into his palm. Monarch popped the pills into his mouth and twisted the lid off the water. Then, he reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a bottle of MiO, flipped the top up and squirted it into the bottle.

"Again with the MiO?" Twenty-One laughed, as the red-haired man tucked the little bottle back into his pocket.

"If you've got a problem, talk to the wife about it," Monarch mumbled around the pills. He took a long pull of the now-bright-orange water as his chauffeur started the car and lifted off.

"Do you think we'll have any trouble with the police?" Gary asked conversationally as they headed for home. "I swore the kids to secrecy about you and I, and told them to go to the first policeman they saw. Think they'll rat us out?"

"I think we're fine," Monarch said, pulling his shirtsleeve back over the bandage and buttoning the cuff. "Once they tell the cops about 'Thor' sticking them in that pit, that'll become the focus." He yawned suddenly, holding a hand over his mouth.

"You OK?" Gary asked, glancing over at him.

"Exhausted all of a sudden," the super-villain said, scratching at his wrist absent-mindedly. "You sure you didn't give me 'profen PM by mistake?" He yawned again, then leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

"I'm sure," the burly chauffeur said with a smile, glancing fondly over at his boss and best friend. "Why don't you conk out for a bit? I'll wake you when we get home."

There was only a snore in response, and Twenty-One shook his head with a chuckle before turning his attention back to piloting.

* * *

About half an hour later, Twenty-One pulled the Morphomobile onto its platform in the cave and powered her down. Monarch was still asleep in the passenger seat, and the big man decided to let him rest as he put their gear away. He reloaded both the dart guns and stowed them and the rest of the weapons in the costume pods.

A few minutes later, he walked over to the passenger side of the car and gently tapped on the window. Monarch stirred slightly, and Twenty-One opened the gull-wing door. He reached in and shook his boss by the shoulder, and the older man awakened with a jolt.

"Sorry, buddy," Gary said, as he headed back over to the costume pods, unbuttoning his jacket. "Get out of your suit and then we'll get you to bed." Suddenly, an empty beaker from the work table came flying past his head, and he ducked as it shattered against the front of his costume pod. "Hey!"

"WHO ARE YOU?" Monarch suddenly demanded, his voice echoing through the cave.

Gary turned, raising an eyebrow. The older man stood there, breathing hard, staring at him as if he'd never seen his henchman before.

"Uh, dude?" the younger man began uncertainly, taking a step toward him.

"NOO!" Monarch screeched, pointing at Twenty-One, taking on a defensive stance, reminiscent of his early days as a super-villain. He picked up a second beaker from the lab table. "NO, STAY BACK, DEMON!"

"Demon?" Twenty-One held his hands out, confused. "What are you—" He yelped and dodged as Monarch flung the beaker at him, and it smashed to pieces on the hard floor.

"GET BACK!" Monarch turned and grabbed up a length of pipe, and held it like a baseball bat. He took a threatening step toward Twenty-One, his eyes wild behind the Morpho mask, his face a study in terror and rage.

"That's PVC, dingus," the bodyguard said, carefully moving closer to his deranged leader, "and we used this as a lightsaber when we were fucking around like three days ago…." He trailed off as he noticed Monarch's eyes, or more specifically, the fact that the pupils resembled black nickels.

"STAY BAAAACK," the slim man growled.

"Oh dude," Gary said, finally understanding. "You're tripping balls. That wasn't just a burn; that guy DRUGGED you!"

"YEEAHHHH!" With a roar, Monarch charged at him, swinging the pipe, which made a comical hooting sound as it cut through the air.

Twenty-One easily dodged it, then grabbed it and wrenched it out of his drug-crazed friend's hands. Monarch came at him with his fists next, and managed to land a pretty good jab on his square jaw.

"OW!" Gary snapped impatiently, holding his face. "C'mon, man, work with me, here!"

"BEGONE, MONSTER!" Monarch shrilled, swinging wildly at him with his fists.

"All right, that's enough of that," Twenty-One said, ducking and weaving, avoiding the crazy, unfocused attacks with ease. He tossed the pipe aside.

"I VANQUISH YOU, HELLSPAWN!"

"I am SO sorry about this, dude," the burly man said, shaking his head sadly as he cocked his fist back.

"BACK TO THE DEPTHS OF...!"

Wincing, he delivered a solid right hook to Monarch's face. The other man was spun around a full 360 degrees, hat flying off, his legs buckling as consciousness fled his body. Twenty-One stepped forward quickly and grabbed two hands full of his coat, to keep him from falling to the floor. The older man sagged boneless in his grasp, his head lolling back.

"Sorry, boss," the bodyguard said softly, regretfully, "If it makes you feel any better, that really DID hurt me more than it hurt you."

He quickly draped his unconscious partner across his shoulders, and crossed the cave to the makeshift medical bay.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Dr. Billy “Quizboy” Whalen was in his bedroom, enjoying a rare day off, when his communicator watch beeped. The diminutive doctor gave a sigh of exasperation and reluctantly accepted the videocall, expecting to see Doc Venture's face. He'd probably end up going in on his day off… again.

Instead, it was the masked face of The Blue Morpho's faithful bodyguard and chauffeur, Kano, which filled the tiny screen.

"Mr. Kano!" Billy said in excitement, hurrying to shut his bedroom door, "Wow, I can't believe it. How did you get my number?"

"We… uh… we have our ways," the big man said, cryptically, "Listen, Doctor, we…."

"Hey, I never got a chance to thank you and Blue Morpho for the Haranguetan thing!" the red-haired doctor continued, "I owe you guys, big!"

"Well that's umm, kind of why I'm calling…," the burly chauffeur said. "We need to call in that marker, so to speak. Can you be on your roof in about ten minutes?"

* * *

Billy was so excited to ride in The Morphomobile that he didn't even complain about being blindfolded for the trip to the Morpho Cave.

Now, he shone his penlight into The Blue Morpho's eyes, studying the reaction of his pupils. The masked vigilante was unconscious, strapped down to a gurney in the medical bay of The Morpho Cave.

"And he just totally lost his shit," Kano was explaining, "Didn't recognize me at all… he tried to bash me with a PVC pipe."

"And then he passed out?" Billy inquired, checking the prone man's pulse.

"Mmmore or less," Kano replied evasively, flexing his sore hand.

"Tell me more about this injury," Billy said, gently pulling Blue Morpho's sleeve up and taking the bandage off his wrist. "You say it was made by a hot iron?"

"That's what it looked like," Kano said with a shrug. "This crazy guy just ran at him and pressed that thing into his skin."

Billy carefully stroked a cotton swab across the red, raised mark on the vigilante's wrist, and then swirled the swab in a test tube full of clear, bluish fluid. The fluid turned a deep violet color and clouded slightly.

"Some kind of hallucinogen," the Quizboy said thoughtfully. "Can I use your microscope for a second?"

Kano nodded and gestured at the lab equipment, standing aside as Billy moved to the table. He dabbed the cotton swab across a clean slide and slipped it under the lens of the microscope, peering through the eyepiece with his single eye.

"Interesting," he announced. "Spores, from Amanita Muscaria; the Fly Agaric mushroom."

"Do what, now?" Kano said, blinking in confusion. "He's tripping on Magic Mushrooms?"

"No, you're thinking of Psilocybin," Whalen replied with a chuckle. "Those are mostly used recreationally. But the Fly Agaric has a history of use in ancient cultures as a way to communicate with the Gods… among other things."

"Huh," Kano said, putting his hands on his hips. "The guy that attacked us was yelling something about a sacrifice, or something."

"Well," Billy said, moving to Blue Morpho's bedside and pushing up his sleeve, "This mark… it's the Valknut… a symbol of Odin." He traced his fingers over the mark: three interlocked triangles.

"Odin, yeah!" Kano said, nodding. "He said something about Odin, I remember it now. And wait… there was something on the news this morning…." He moved to the Crime Computer and brought up the website for the local news, and did a quick search.

"Police still baffled by apparent Odinist sacrifice victims," Billy read, coming to stand beside the big man. "Two sets of remains, found earlier this week, have now been identified as belonging to orphaned siblings, residents of the Tottenville orphanage of Staten Island."

"Holy shit," Kano breathed. "Kids. They sacrificed kids."

"Sick fucks," Billy murmured.

"We pulled a pair of kids from that same orphanage out of an abandoned silo at the Battery Weed bunker a couple hours ago, right around that same area," Kano said thoughtfully. "That's when we ran into 'Thor'." He drummed his fingers on the desk, looking back toward Blue Morpho.

"I would bet you anything those kids were gonna be the next victims," Billy said, patting Kano's arm. "Good job getting them out of there."

Whalen typed in another website, and Kano recognized it as a shock site that specialized in the grotesque and gory.

"Here, there's some leaked photos from the scene," Billy said, clicking on a link. "They might give us more— Oh Jesus God!" He clapped his hands to his mouth.

The full color, high definition photos loaded, their size on the enormous screen making them even more repulsive. The bodies had been crushed almost flat, the skulls nothing but a red and pink mass, with bits of bone here and there. The only parts of the bodies intact were the hands… small, child-sized hands.

"What… what HAPPENED?" Kano asked, horrified, "What DOES that to a human body?"

"Only thing I can figure is 'pressing'," Billy said softly, "an ancient method of human sacrifice or torture; the victim is crushed by weights or stones of some sort. In the cases of sacrifice, it was believed to force the soul out of the flesh more cleanly than other methods."

"How do you KNOW all this crap?" the chauffeur asked, looking at the small man.

"Are you kidding?" Billy snorted. "I was a trivia master, remember? You wouldn't believe some of the stuff I have up here!" he pointed at his enormous head.

"So these kids were crushed to death," Kano said, shaking his head in disgust. "That's sick." He reached for the mouse to click off the disturbing images.

"Wait, wait," Billy said, "zoom in on that hand in the lower corner."

Kano did as he was instructed, and the heartbreakingly-small human hand filled the screen.

"Look," Billy said, pointing. "On the wrist." There was a brand burned into the pale skin.

"The Valknut," Kano said, glancing worriedly at his prone partner as Blue Morpho moaned.

"Well, if the kids were going to be used as a sacrifice, then it would make sense that the cultists would want to drug them first, to keep them compliant," Billy said.

"Compliant?" Kano said, cocking an eyebrow, gesturing at the gurney. "He was the exact OPPOSITE of compliant."

"Yes, but," Whalen replied, "you said he slept for about forty-five minutes, right? Before he freaked out?" The little doctor shrugged. "My guess is, the amanita causes sleepiness, and then later— IF you wake up— hallucinations."

"That doesn't make any sense," Kano said.

"No?" Billy replied, "Remember Ambien? People took it as a sleep aid, but then wound up having psychotic episodes, blackouts, bizarre behavior?"

"Ahhh yeah," Kano said, nodding, "I see what you mean."

Billy looked sadly up at the screen, at the images of the mutilated bodies, again.

"These two didn't live long enough to get to the hallucination stage," the red-haired doctor murmured. "Once they got branded, they fell asleep, and then…. Well, let's just hope they slept through the whole thing."

"Does this mean The Blue Morpho's been targeted as the next sacrifice?" Kano asked, running a nervous hand over his chin.

"I don't know," Billy replied carefully, "but it couldn't hurt for you two to lay low for a few days. Just send the cops an anonymous message about what you've seen."

The Blue Morpho groaned again and began to stir.

"You stay out of sight for a second," Kano whispered, guiding Billy into a darkened corner of the medical bay, "until I make sure he's back to normal."

"Sure," the small doctor agreed with a nod, ducking back into the shadows.

Kano crossed to his partner's side and leaned over him, and the red-haired man's eyes fluttered blearily open.

"Wwwhat's going on?" he demanded, looking down at his body. "Why am I tied down?"

"How do you feel?" his bodyguard asked softly, undoing the straps, "Do you remember anything?"

"I remember falling asleep in the car," the older man said, sitting up and flexing his arms, "And then I woke up tied to a gurney…. What happened?"

"You were drugged, and kind of freaking out," Kano replied, patting his leader's knee before crossing to the sink. "Let me get you some water."

"Get me a cold pack, too, will you? My face hurts," the red-haired man called, working his jaw.

"Yeah, it's certainly killing ME!" the henchman called over his shoulder with a grin.

"That joke was funny when I was TWELVE." The slim vigilante peeled off his mask and tossed it aside as he hopped off the gurney. He rubbed a hand over his throbbing jaw, and then froze.

"WHO'S THERE?" he demanded, whirling to peer into the shadows.

There was a moment of hesitation, and then tentative footsteps. Billy Whalen emerged cautiously from the dark corner, his mouth hanging open in shock.

"Shit! SHIT!" Kano shouted, charging from the sink and snatching up his boss's mask. He skidded to a halt when he saw Billy and the now-mask-less Monarch standing there staring at each other.

"You're… you're The Mighty Monarch," Billy said in disbelief.

The three men just stood there looking at one another, none of them knowing what to say.

"Well, I guess THAT little secret is out," Monarch mumbled at last, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. "You might as well take yours off too, dude." He motioned to Kano's mask.

With a sigh, Kano stripped off his mask and gave Billy a sheepish smile.

"Gary! Hi!" Whalen exclaimed with a smile, then his brow furrowed, "Wait… you mean, all this time, it's been YOU two going around as The Blue Morpho and Kano?" he said, incredulously, "All those super-villains… YOU guys killed them?"

"That's right!" Monarch said sharply, pointing a finger at him. "And if you don't keep your mouth shut, we'll…"

"Dude, CHILL!" Twenty-One clamped a hand over his partner's mouth, rolling his eyes. Monarch shoved the hand away with a sound of annoyance, and turned to stalk across the cave.

"OK, first of all…," Gary began, "Every one of those super-villain's deaths… and I mean EVERY ONE of them… were accidental." The big bodyguard ran a hand over his hair, looking plaintively at Billy. "All we wanted to do was knock their EMA levels down, we never meant to hurt anyone."

"Well, HE never meant to hurt anyone," Monarch muttered.

"So, here we are," Billy said uncertainly. "What happens, now?"

"One of two things!" Monarch said, returning to the group with a very stern look on his face, steepling his fingers. "You can either KEEP our little secret… or… or we'll… um… e-e-erase your memories... with our… mind-erasing… thingy."

"That was the worst bluff EVER, dude," his henchman sighed, facepalming.

"Oh, EAT me."

"Look," Gary began, addressing Quizboy, "you said yourself that you owe us for saving you from Haranguetan, right?"

"Well, yeah," Billy said.

"So how would you feel about being The Blue Morpho's official super-scientist? You could help us out when we need someone with a science or medical background." The big man smiled ingratiatingly, bobbing his eyebrows.

Billy was quiet for a long moment, apparently thinking the offer over. "Would I get a secret identity?" he asked, hopefully.

"Sure!" Gary said. "How does 'Morpho Boy' sound to you?"

"Ehhh," Billy said noncommittally, "what about a uniform? Will I get a cool, kick-ass costume?"

"Absolutely," Monarch said, face brightening. "We know a guy!"

"Okay," Whalen said with an excited smile, "I'm in!"

"Excellent!" Twenty-One said, patting Billy on the back, "Glad to have you… Now tell The Monarch… er, The Blue Morpho… everything you just told me…."

* * * * *


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

An hour or so later found Monarch alone in the cave in his robe, messing around on the Crime Computer. Gary, as Kano, had taken Billy to Enzo's Tailoring Shop to get measured for the doctor's new costume. 'Team Morpho,', Whalen had said, and although he scoffed at the time, Monarch secretly loved the idea.

He loaded the local news website and began flicking idly through the various stories. The word 'Tottenville' caught his eye, and he scrolled back to the headline.

_Tottenville Headmaster Offers Reward In Murdered Orphans Case_

He clicked on the story, and a photo of a pair of red-haired children made him do a double-take. But it wasn't Megan and Toby. As he read further, he realized these were the original victims whose remains had been found under the bridge. 

"More redheads," he mumbled, 'Weird." He continued skimming the article, but most of it was the same stuff he and Twenty-One had already deduced; an Odinist cult had taken up residence in the area, and they were practicing human sacrifice. The local police still didn't take the idea seriously.

Bored with the absence of any new information, he moved the mouse to close the browser… and then hesitated. At the bottom of the story was another photo, a portrait of Eric Fritjof, the new Headmaster at the orphanage. The white-haired man looked to be in his early seventies, with shockingly-clear blue eyes and a bright smile.

But what caught Monarch's eye was the cufflink on the man's sleeve. Cocking his head, he zoomed in on the small, gold trinket, and froze. Three small triangles intersected, like a Celtic knot.

The Valknut.

"What the shit?" he breathed, pushing up his sleeve and removing the bandage on his wrist. He compared the reddened brand on his pale skin to the headmaster's cufflink. "Oh my God." 

It was just too much of a coincidence. Fritjof was the new Headmaster at the orphanage, and suddenly children from the orphanage were being sacrificed. And the man was actually wearing the same symbol that had been found with the first set of bodies….

He snatched up his cell phone and dialed Gary's number, but it went straight to voicemail. He remembered then, that Enzo's shop was set up as more or less a dead zone where devices were concerned. 

_"To help keep-a things confidential!"_ the little Sicilian had explained the first time Monarch visited.

He tried his communicator watch, but it, too, would not connect. Monarch muttered a curse, and started pacing around the cave. Should he call the police? Was there enough evidence to implicate Fritjof, or would he be laughed at if he called in his suspicions?

But perhaps the police could find more evidence at the orphanage? Or, if not, surely, they could turn up something at the silo where he and Gary had found the children? That door at the bottom clearly led somewhere!

Every second he wasted in indecision was the possibility of more children being sacrificed. He couldn't wait for Twenty-One to get back. Making a decision, he strode purposefully over to the computer and scanned the article for the tip line. Once he found the number, he dialed it with the red Morpho-phone, and drummed his fingers on the desk as it rang.

"Detective Marcus Phillips speaking."

"Hello, Detective," he began uncertainly, "Umm, you don't know me, but I think I might have a lead on your case with the murdered children."

"One second." Monarch heard papers shuffling. "Can you give me your name?"

"Mmm, I dunno," the red-haired man said, "I was sort of hoping to remain nameless… I have my reasons."

"I understand," Phillips replied, "Wow. Your number is completely untraceable, even with my equipment. That's impressive."

"Thanks," Monarch said, grinning, "I do a bit of crime-fighting myself now and then."

"Cool. So, you said you had a lead for me?"

"Yes!" the supervillain brought up the photo of Fritjof on the huge screen again. "That painted symbol under the bridge, that's called the Valknut. It's a symbol of Odin."

"Really?" Phillips said, sounding impressed. "So I guess I was wrong to dismiss those rumors so quickly!"

"So anyway," Monarch continued, "I did some digging, and I found that the new guy at the Orphanage, Fritjof? He has cufflinks with that same symbol!"

There was silence for a long time, and Monarch worried that he'd made an error. Now that he thought about it, a cufflink was hardly grounds to suspect someone of murder. He was about to hang up, when the detective spoke again.

"Well now," the police officer said quietly, "That's some damned fine detective work on your part, mister…?"

"Oh," Monarch said, caught off-guard, "Just call me… M."

"Does anyone else know what you've told me?" the detective asked.

"No," Monarch said, "My partner is out, and I can't reach him right now."

"I see," Phillips muttered, "Well, we don't have any time to lose. Why don't you meet me at the Tottenham orphanage in an hour?"

"Really?" Monarch said, a smile spreading across his face, "You want me to help you nail this bastard?"

"Oh, absolutely," the detective said. "I have a feeling you're going to be indispensable."

"OK. See you in about an hour, I guess," Monarch said. He hung up the phone, and hurried to change into his Morpho suit. As he picked up the mask, he hesitated. Maybe he should forgo the disguise for this mission…. The police weren't exactly fans of vigilantism. 

In the end, he settled for the suit, but left behind the hat, mask and trench coat. He wasn't a crime fighter…. Or a supervillain…. He was just a normal dude in a suit, who was about to get a freaking medal for helping take down a child killer.

Dialing Gary on his communicator watch once more, he waited for the voice mail to pick up before speaking. "Dude… I've got it. I've cracked the case. I'm on my way to Tottenville, call me as soon as you get this!"

He ended the call, checked his suit pocket for his Metro card, and then headed for the bus stop.

* * *

Detective Phillips hung up the phone, then pulled his personal cell phone out of his pocket and dialed.

"Headmaster Fritjof, speaking."

"Your Holiness," Phillips said, glowering, "We have a problem."

* * * * *

Monarch wandered up and down the sidewalk in front of the Tottenville Home For Orphans, watching for the Detective. He'd already been waiting nearly twenty minutes, and there was still no sign of the man. He rubbed his hands together, trying to stay warm in the chilly air, wishing now that he'd worn the trench coat.

Just then, the front door of the big house opened, and he turned to see Fritjof himself standing on the porch, smiling down at him.

"Hello, there!" the white-haired man called, "Are you waiting for someone?"

"Yeah," Monarch said, blowing warm air into his cold hands, while surreptitiously sizing up the headmaster.

"Why don't you come in and get out of the cold for a few minutes?" the older man said kindly, gesturing to Monarch. "It's freezing out here."

The supervillain was hesitant, but then realized that there was really no reason for Fritjof to suspect him. They'd never met. "OK, thanks!" he said, climbing the steps and moving past the kindly-looking headmaster.

"This way," Fritjof said, laying a gentle hand on Monarch's back as he guided him through the beautiful foyer and down the hall. There was a door at the end of the hall, and the white-haired man opened it to reveal a large, lavish office. 

Monarch stepped into the office, and Fritjof followed, closing the door behind them. "Sit!" he said, gesturing at the comfy-looking chair across from the large desk. "Can I get you anything? Bottled water? Coffee?"

"A water would be great," Monarch said, moving to take the offered seat. He watched as Fritjof moved to the small refrigerator in the corner of the room, opened it, retrieved a bottle of water, and returned to hand it to his guest. "Thanks."

Fritjof took his seat behind the desk and just watched Monarch as he pulled out a bottle of MiO and squirted it into the water, turning it bright green. 

"Vitamins," the red-haired man explained, tucking the small bottle back into his breast pocket.

The Headmaster nodded, then discretely pressed a small button on a control console at his right. There was a barely-audible _*CLICK*_ as the office door locked.

Monarch heard it, but didn't show any reaction, other than to stealthily turn on his communicator watch under the pretense of scratching his wrist. Before he could dial Kano's number, though, the Headmaster's attention was on him again.

"Now then," Fritjof said, sitting back in his chair and steepling his fingers. He eyed his guest carefully. "What is it that you do for a living, Mr…?"

"Fitz… er, Smith," Monarch replied, internally kicking himself. Smooth, Monarch, smooth. "Oh, I freelance, mostly."

"I see," the older man said, rising from his chair and coming to stand over Monarch. "I hate to be too personal, Mr. Fitzersmith, but… is that your natural hair color?"

Monarch blinked, reaching up to run his fingers through his thick, scarlet hair. "Y…yes?" he said uncertainly. "Got it from my Mother's side of the family."

"Very nice," the headmaster continued, reaching out as if to brush his fingers over the red mane, but hesitating when Monarch leaned away from him. "The richness of that color is exceedingly rare in this part of the world," he continued, "You don't often see that level of purity among the filthy mongrels of America."

"Oookay, then," Monarch said, standing up and buttoning his jacket, eager to leave the suddenly-awkward situation. "I need to get going, now, thanks for the hospitality and the water and the creepy-racist-grandpa vibes." He extended his right hand to shake, and Fritjof took his fingers in an unnaturally-cold grip.

"Well, I…," the white-haired man broke off as his gaze settled on Monarch's pale wrist, and the burn there. He grabbed the startled red-haired man's arm and yanked up the sleeve. Accusing blue eyes stared daggers as he whispered reverently, "You are for Odin…."

"My ASS," Monarch snapped, yanking his limb out of the headmaster's quivering grip and backing away.

Suddenly there was a sharp knock at the door. "Detective Phillips! Open up!"

"HA!" Monarch crowed, pointing a finger at the Headmaster. The old man leaned sideways and pressed the button on his desk, and with a loud CLICK, the office door unlocked and swung open. The supervillain breathed a huge sigh of relief as Detective Phillips entered.

The relief was short-lived, though, as Fritjof greeted Phillips with a warm hug. "Your Holiness," the Detective murmured, bowing his head slightly.

"Wait… WHAT?!" Monarch gaped, as Phillips grinned at him, with a shrug.

"So… this is the 'freelance detective' I spoke to on the phone, so eager to be a hero," the detective said, shaking his head in disappointment. "No offense, 'M'... but you must be a complete fucking idiot." 

"Yeahhhh, I'm getting that," Monarch said nervously, looking around for a way out.

"So, what do we do?" Phillips asked of Fritjof, "I can just put a bullet to him and dump him somewhere, if you like."

The Headmaster shook his head, and smiled a truly evil smile. "No, no, that would be such a waste of his pure blood. And after all, he has already been marked for Odin."

Monarch discreetly tugged his sleeve over the Valknut and hid his wrist behind his back.

"So, The Mechanism, then?" the detective said, brightening. 

"We need all the blood we can get for the upcoming war against the race mongrels," The old man added. "A fully-grown man's body will provide more than a child's."

"Excellent, your Holiness," Phillips replied, "Kill two birds with one stone. Remove our little troublemaker from the equation, and gain favor with The Allfather."

"You guys know I can hear you, right?" Monarch asked, gaping at how his imminent and likely horrible demise was being discussed so casually.

Without a word, Fritjof pressed another button on the desk, and a door at the other end of the office opened. Monarch turned as a huge, blond man in a suit entered from the far door. The big man's eyes settled on Monarch and immediately flew wide.

"Oh shit," Monarch murmured, backing away, "Thor."

"YOU!" the blond behemoth roared, pointing at the alarmed supervillain.

Monarch upended his chair toward the trio of men and bolted across the office, heading for the window as Thor lunged after him. He desperately jabbed at the buttons on his communicator watch. 

"KANO!" he barked into the microphone, not even certain he'd dialed correctly, "DUDE, MAYDAY! MAY—" And then something heavy came down on the back of his head, and everything went dark.

* * * * *

Gary had just stepped out of Enzo's shop for some air, and the moment he was outside, both his phone and communicator watch began beeping, letting him know he had messages. He saw a missed call from Monarch on his phone. Nothing unusual there.

But on his watch were two messages, both from Monarch. The last had come in about twenty minutes ago. Gary rolled his eyes, and loaded the first message. He stopped in place on the sidewalk, his eyes growing wide as his boss announced his plans to go to Tottenville.

"Oh dude, no. Please tell me you aren't that stupid…." Gary intoned prayerfully, closing his eyes and shaking his head. With much dread and trepidation, he moved to the second message. As he'd expected, it was Monarch in full-on Freak Out mode, screaming for him.

"Motherfucker!" Gary shouted, drawing glares from a pair of nuns passing by. "Sorry about that," he added sheepishly, turning red in the face. He hurried back to Enzo's and threw the door open. 

Billy looked up in surprise from his place on Enzo's little pedestal, where the Sicilian man was measuring him. "Kano?" the little doctor asked, "Everything OK?"

"I've gotta go!" the big man said, "Sorry, Billy, you'll need to get a cab home!" He didn't wait for a reply.

Now, the Morphomobile sped through the sky, heading back to Fort Wadsworth. 

"I told you, dammit, me and Billy both fucking TOLD YOU!" the big man lamented out loud, "You're marked, dude, we needed to keep you out of sight for a few days!"

He leaned over and tapped a few keys on his laptop where it lay on the passenger seat, and Monarch's status screen popped up. The big man breathed a sigh of relief when it showed that his friend's vitals were stable and fairly normal. He was safe… at least for the moment.

"Hang on, boss, I'm coming."

He brought the car in low over the fortress and landed in the same cluster of bushes as before. Then he gathered his gear, and made a beeline for the silo where they'd discovered the twins. He had to start somewhere….

* * * * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "Mark of Odin" finally comes to a conclusion.

Chapter 6

Monarch came back to consciousness with a headache, and instinctively tried to rub the sore spot on the back of his head, only to find his wrists shackled in front of him. He made a half-hearted attempt at freeing himself, but the manacles were made of iron, ancient and immovable. 

He sat up, with difficulty, and looked around the dimly-lit, windowless, damp, stone cell in which he was imprisoned. Wondering how long he'd been unconscious, he checked his watch, only to find it missing. Of course.

Before he could do much more than take in his surroundings, the cell door creaked open. A quartet of strangers entered, all blond, all dressed in fur and metal, as 'Thor" had been when they'd first met.

"On your feet!" one of the men ordered. When Monarch was sluggish in his response, two of the guards came to his side and hauled him roughly upright.

"Ow!" he protested, "Take it easy!"

"Silence!" the apparent-leader snapped, "You are for Odin! You are to remain silent!"

"Yeah, good luck with THAT," the red-haired man muttered with a sneer. 

The leader turned and marched out of the cell, followed by two of the underlings. Next, Monarch was shoved into line, and he reluctantly shuffled along, with the last of the blonde men bringing up the rear.

"So, what, you guys are cosplaying?" Monarch said jokingly as he was ushered along. "I loved Thor: Ragnarok, too, so you—" 

A sharp cuff to his already-throbbing head made him wince, and he fell silent. He shuffled along, resigned to his fate, knowing if he paused again, he'd receive another smack from the cultist dick bringing up the rear.

They went a few more steps, when from behind him, he heard the muffled sound of a body falling to the floor. Monarch hunched his shoulders as he slowly turned, still wary of being struck again. 

The guard was laid out on the floor, unconscious.

With a quick glance ahead to confirm the rest of the Odinist processional was oblivious to this sudden development, Monarch stealthily crept back to the fallen man's inert body and knelt. He began searching the guard's belt for the keys to the manacles around his wrists.

There were no keys on the man's belt. Making an annoyed face, Monarch straightened…. And was promptly grabbed from behind. A muscular arm encircled his waist and lifted him a few inches off the ground, while at the same time, a gloved hand clamped over his mouth. He struggled briefly as he was carried backwards into a dark alcove, until a familiar voice breathed in his ear.

"Shhh," Twenty-One whispered, "It's me."

Monarch closed his eyes and sagged against his bodyguard in relief. The big man released him, then turned him, and took hold of his chained wrists. He produced the guard's keyring, and began trying the different keys in the lock on the manacles.

"I swear, dude, the shit you get yourself into by NOT listening to me…," Twenty-One whispered, crossly, as he finally found the right key, and undid the heavy metal restraints. They fell to the ground with a muffled clatter, and after a beat, he impulsively pulled Monarch to him, wrapping his arms around the older man with a relieved sigh. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," Monarch said softly, smiling and closing his eyes as Twenty-One's big arms tightened around him like a protective shield. "I'm fine."

"Good. Because I'm gonna kick your ASS, later." Gary released the older man, and ruffled his hair affectionately with one large, gloved hand. "You idiot."

"Yeah yeah, point taken," Monarch said impatiently, swatting Twenty-One's hands away and smoothing his hair back from his face. "Where are we, anyway?" he asked, looking around.

"In the catacombs under the fortress," Gary replied, "I used the grappling gun to climb down into that silo where we found the twins, forced my way through the old rusted door, and then just followed the torches."

"Well I hope you dropped breadcrumbs or something on your way in here," Monarch said, rubbing the back of his head again. "Because I was unconscious when they brought me through. I have no idea how to get back topside."

"Follow me," Gary ordered, leading the way. They had only gone a few steps and turned one corner, when the big man stopped short, causing Monarch to bump into him.

"What are you doing?" the older man asked, steadying himself. He leaned around his bodyguard's bulk to see what the holdup was. "Ahh, shit."

The quartet of Odinist guards stood there, blocking the corridor, each with a sharp spear pointed at the blue-clad duo.

With a sheepish look at one another, Monarch and Twenty-One each laced their fingers behinds their heads.

"Every. Fucking. Time." The henchman grumbled, as they were roughly turned and shoved back in the direction from which they'd come.

* * * * *

The Chamber of Sacrifice was more or less circular, set on the flat top of a cylinder, with a wide chasm around its outer edge. A small bridge was the only way across this pit, and now Gary watched his step as he carefully crossed it. A glance down told him what he suspected; the pit was too deep to see the bottom.

The 'Sacred Mechanism' at the center of the room was a gigantic, rusted contraption made up of gears, pulleys, counter-weights, and an enormous, heavy slab of dark stone. Below the suspended stone was an altar of marble, inlaid with many drainage pits, to apparently funnel the blood down to a spout over a ceremonial chalice at the bottom. The plinth was covered with stains; some old… some very new. 

Gary remembered the images of the crushed children, and fought down a snarl of rage.

The more even-tempered, thoughtful part of him wondered how this underground lair had been kept secret for so long. Most likely, it had been a secret passed down from generation to generation. The place reeked of decades of neglect, and it was obvious that the chamber and the enormous, horrific machine at its center had only recently been put to use after a long time.

The two guards at his shoulders escorted him to the sidelines of the chamber, beside a large seating area that reminded him of the stands of The Coliseum of Rome. He glanced askance at the dozen or so Odinists that sat patiently waiting, and noticed that they had begun a low, rhythmic chanting in some language with which he was not familiar.

The guards forced him to his knees, and he discreetly twisted his wrists behind his back, trying again to loosen the heavy coils of rope around them. The cold stone floor was uncomfortable on his knees, and he shifted slightly, trying to ease his discomfort.

One of the Odinist guards took position behind him, planting the point of his long spear on the floor. Gary looked around stealthily, trying to think of a way out. As he shifted again, trying to give his poor knees a break, his thumb accidentally brushed against the sharp edge of the spearhead behind him. He winced in pain, and then realized he'd just found his method of escape.

As carefully as he could, he began to run his bonds up and down against the blade. He moved slowly, putting as much pressure as he dared on the spear, knowing that if the spear's owner detected his actions, it would be all for nothing.

The sound of someone blowing through a ram's horn startled him, the glaring, eerie sound filling the room and echoing off the stone walls. The Odinists in the stands got to their feet, and Gary tensed in anticipation.

Moving slowly and reverently, Fritjof came across the bridge next, adorned in ceremonial robes and a horned helmet. As he entered the circle, the chanting grew louder and more excited. Behind him came Thor, apparently the cult leader's Number Two. The behemoth of a man took his place in front of the pressing mechanism and unrolled a scroll.

"The Allfather Odin is wise and generous, and he crowns his sacrificial beasts with hair of scarlet, that we may more easily recognize the pure blood he demands."

"All hail Odin!" the devotees chanted.

"As The Ancient Ones did before us, we engage the Sacred Mechanism to separate soul from flesh, blood from bone, to purify our offering."

The other two guards came across the bridge, dragging Monarch between them. The red-haired man glanced around nervously. His anxious eyes met Gary's, and the henchman gave a tiny, reassuring nod.

"And now, my brethren, we offer our sacrifice to Odin, that he may bless our upcoming war!"

Gary tried to focus on his wrists, heart beginning to hammer. The two minions swung Monarch up onto the altar, and were joined by two more attendants on the opposite side of the stone. Together, they shackled the slim man's wrists, ankles, and waist, before bowing to the leader and stepping back from the mechanism.

Fritjof pulled a lever, and the great slab of stone began to descend, inch by inch, excruciatingly slowly. The chanting was becoming frenzied now, the Odinists bloodlust feeding on Monarch's fear. The man in blue struggled against his restraints, but it was hopeless. He gave another, desperate, pleading look toward his faithful bodyguard.

Spurred by his best friend's peril, Gary finally broke his bonds, and grabbed the spear from the man standing over him. Before anyone knew what was happening, the heavyset man spun the weapon and used the blunt end of the handle to pick up and toss the guard into the pit. The unfortunate man's wail grew fainter and fainter as he plummeted into the darkness.

The followers in the stands rose as one, and Gary rounded on them with a snarl. 

Fritjof bolted, vanishing across the bridge, as the fight broke out. 

The seasoned henchman fought with everything he had, dispensing Odinists left and right, putting the stolen spear to good use.

"Behind you!" Monarch suddenly screeched.

The bodyguard didn't bother to look, he just leaped sideways in the nick of time as one of Fritjof's guards tried to run him through with his spear. As the big man dodged to safety, a trio of Odinists who had been creeping up behind him were swiftly run through by the long spear. The guard cursed and dropped his spear and the resultant, morbid, cultist-kabob crumpled to the floor.

Another pair of cultists came at Gary, and he snatched up a stray spear. He knocked each of the men aside, sending them to their deaths over the edge to join their comrade.

The stone inched down, slowly but inexorably. Monarch pulled at his restraints, but he was held fast.

Pausing to catch his breath, Gary spotted the keys on Thor's belt, and knew he had to retrieve them to free Monarch. He faced off with the enormous man.

He ripped the keys off the huge man's belt, but they slipped from his hand and skidded along the stone floor, coming to rest at the edge of the pit, dangling over the edge. "SHIT!"

"Dude!" Monarch called out anxiously.

"Working on it, boss!" the big man replied, as he tossed away another random minion, keeping one eye on the keys and their precarious spot at the edge of the chasm. "Just hang on!" He vanquished the worshipper, snatched up the key from where it had fallen to the floor, and rushed to Monarch's side.

"Don't panic," he said softly, unlocking the manacle around Monarch's right wrist. He eyed the descending monolith uneasily as he leaned across his boss's body to free his left wrist. "We have plenty of time."

"Yeah, that's easy for YOU to say!" Monarch muttered, rubbing his chafed wrists.

Gary moved to his midsection, but before he could unlock the restraint around Monarch's waist, he was pounced on by 'Thor'. The enormous man hooked his thick arm around Twenty-One's neck from behind and began to choke him. The bodyguard fought to free himself, gasping and flailing at his assailant's head, to no avail.

"Here!" Monarch shouted. "This way!"

The henchman threw his weight sideways, sending himself and Thor stumbling toward Monarch's head. The red-haired man reached out as far as the restraint at his waist allowed, and snatched the branding iron from the huge man's belt. He used the tip of the tool to hook the end of the Odinist's long, blond braid, and reached up to flip it deftly into the huge gears of the pressing mechanism.

Thor was yanked back, and upwards, releasing Twenty-One to claw at his scalp with both hands, screaming as his head was pulled into the grinding gears. There was a hideous crunch.

"And your MOTHER, too!" Monarch spat, tossing the iron aside as the huge, twitching body dropped to the floor.

"Thanks!" Twenty-One croaked, grimacing as he rubbed his bruised throat. He returned to Monarch's side and freed the super-villain's ankles, then moved to the restraint at his waist. The stone was barely half a meter above them, now, still moving steadily downward. They were running out of time.

With a twist of the key, the last restraint popped open, and Twenty-One started to pull his boss to safety.

"NOOO, YOU ARE FOR ODIN!"

Fritjof appeared out of nowhere, lunging across from the far side of the altar and grabbing Monarch, trying to hold him in place.

"Gaaah!" Monarch yelped, smacking at the Odinist's clutching fists. "Dude! Do something!" he shouted to his bodyguard.

"YOU ARE FOR ODIN! THE GIFT OF YOUR BLOOD WILL MAKE ME POWERFUL… IT HAS BEEN FORETOLD!"

"Get OFF him, you NUTBAG!" Gary shouted, trying to yank his boss out of Fritjof's grasp.

Monarch had become the rope in a game of tug-of-war between his partner and Fritjof, with Gary trying to save him, and the Odinist trying to keep him under the crushing sacrificial stone.

"TWENTY-ONE!!!" Monarch wailed in terror. The stone kept descending, only bare inches from his face now.

As they struggled, a small, plastic bottle slipped out of Monarch's suit jacket. Gary grabbed it, popped the cap, and squirted MiO directly into Fritjof's eyes.

"AUGH!" the Odinist shrieked, releasing Monarch to clap both hands to his face.

Twenty-One pulled with all his strength, yanking Monarch from beneath the stone in the nick of time. He backed away in horror, cradling the older man in his arms as Fritjof screamed, trapped by the stone. A hideous cracking sound emanated from beneath the monolith, and its descent slowed as it met resistance.

The High Priest's screams became choked and animal-like, and Gary turned away, trying not to vomit. Monarch pressed his face into his henchman's shoulder, tightening his arms around the big man's neck and shuddering.

"It's okay," Twenty-One breathed, holding his friend to him, "It's okay… I've got you."

The screams were cut off, finally. There was a thick, wet, meaty crunch, and the massive stone settled into its base with grim finality, leaving a deafening silence as the mechanism ceased.

Twenty-One stood there for a long time, breathing hard, with Monarch clutched to his chest. Finally, he turned his attention to the older man, gently tapping him with the hand supporting his lower back.

"Hey," he murmured, angling his head toward his boss. "You alright?"

Monarch cautiously lifted his head and met his bodyguard's concerned eyes. After a moment, he took a deep breath and gave a faint nod, and Twenty-One gently placed him back on his feet. The super-villain teetered a bit, and his henchman kept an arm around him until he seemed steadier.

"Thanks, dude," Monarch muttered, running a trembling hand over his hair and giving Twenty-One a shaky but grateful smile. "You came through for me, again." He patted his best friend on the back, and the younger man squeezed him close in a one-armed hug.

There was a gurgling sound, and they both stared in revulsion as copious amounts of lumpy, thick blood drained into the ritual collection vessel beneath the plinth: all that was left of Fritjof.

"Well that's just gross," Twenty-One said, making a face.

"Yep," the red-haired man agreed. "I did NOT need to see THAT."

"I was gonna make spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, tonight, too," Gary muttered. "Forget that noise now, though."

"Yeah, no," Monarch agreed. "No Italian for ME, tonight… or maybe ever again…."

The two men looked around at the various bodies and weaponry scattered about.

"We really made a mess," Monarch chuckled, nudging a corpse with his foot. "Are any of them still alive?"

"I don't think so," Gary replied. "The ones that didn't end up down the pit either got speared, stabbed, or squished."

"And… how are you with that?" the older man asked tentatively, laying a gentle hand on his sensitive friend's arm. "I mean… you're always telling me you're not a killer."

"I'm not… but protecting YOU doesn't count," the bodyguard said quietly, tousling Monarch's hair. "I mean, that's kinda my job, isn't it?"

"Yeah," the red-haired man said, blushing slightly. "Thanks."

"And I dunno about YOU," the stocky man added, "but I'm pretty much okay with wiping out child-murderers. Let's be honest; these sick bastards deserved to die."

"I could not agree more," Monarch said, retrieving his fedora from the floor and placing it on his head.

"Wanna get out of here?" Gary asked, with a grin, draping an arm around his leader's bony shoulders.

"Oh, Hell yes…."

* * * * *

"Information retrieved from Mr. Fritjof's personal hard drive included names and addresses of cult members. Police are now certain that the entire cell was wiped out when its members apparently turned on one another during their latest ritual sacrifice."

"Well, we got out of THAT one nicely," Monarch said, reaching out to high-five his partner as they watched the news together. "No mention of us at all."

"Perfect," Gary agreed, laying a hand on the older man's shoulder, then pointing excitedly at the screen. "Oh hey, there are the twins!"

Megan and Toby, the little six-year-old redheads, appeared on the screen, smiling and waving at the camera. A kind-looking young couple stood with them, and the man knelt to wrap his arm around Toby's bony little shoulders. 

"In happier news," continued the reporter, "The siblings who miraculously escaped from the cult were treated for mild hypothermia and released from the hospital. It was their connection to the Tottenville Home which helped lead police to Fritjof. News of the young twins' courage has gone viral, and their adoption is pending…."

"Aww," Gary said, grinning from ear to ear, "That's so awesome. I hope they buy that little dude a whole room full of comic books."

"Me too," Monarch concurred. "Marvel AND DC…. Batman, Spiderman, Green Lantern…."

"Not to mention Wonder-Woman and Iron Man," the henchman added.

"Did someone say, 'Iron-Man?'" came a voice from the work table. Monarch and Gary looked over as Billy laid down his tools with a satisfied smile. "Check THIS out!" he said proudly.

The small man held up his robotic hand, the palm of which was now equipped with a circular light of some sort. As Monarch and Gary watched, Billy made a pushing motion with his hand, and a beam shot from the circle, sending a pile of boxes in the far corner exploding into the air.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Monarch said, jumping to his feet in alarm as Twenty-One ran for the fire extinguisher. 

"Sorry!" Billy exclaimed. "I guess I need to adjust the power a little."

"Yeah," Gary replied as he extinguished the flaming boxes, "I would tend to agree."

"What IS that thing?" Monarch asked, eyeing the new gadget on Billy's palm.

"It's a repulsing ray," the petite genius said proudly, "Just like Tony Stark designed… turns out, it wasn't that difficult to replicate." He smoothed his reddish hair back with his flesh hand with a satisfied grin.

"OK, fine," Monarch said, holding up his hands, "But do me a favor… any further testing needs to be done at the Venture labs… OK?"

'Sure." Billy replied with a smile.

"So… are you officially our 'Morpho Boy,' now?" Gary asked, with a smile. 

"I still don't like the name," Billy grumbled, "But my scientist and inventor skills are at your disposal… Blue Morpho."

THE END


End file.
